


Palettes

by aboraxas



Series: Minuvae Surana: Tired [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotions, angry warden is tired, shale is shale, slaps isolde
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:00:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26450773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aboraxas/pseuds/aboraxas
Summary: "Then she’s no longer guilty, no longer full of grief, no longer upset.Now she’s angry. And they all don’t know what they have coming to them.She doesn’t like that either. "A collection of pieces about a series of different emotions that the Warden Minuvae Surana feels throughout her journey in Thedas.
Relationships: Alistair/Female Surana (Dragon Age)
Series: Minuvae Surana: Tired [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1922773





	Palettes

When Minuvae Surana joined the wardens, she did not think that she’d change so radically.

She knew that she would change of course, from whatever she was before into a hero—but after seeing so many of the senior enchanters morph into demons—the faces she grew up around morphing into creatures of terror beyond belief, after seeing poor Cullen tortured and turned into a mage hating templar, she couldn’t believe that she allowed this. She could not believe that she could endure it.

But she did.

Every night at camp, she’d rinse her shoes, then her gloves, then her armor, until finally—she could rest her body in the body of water they were using, just floating on the surface so that she could not hear anything save for the ripples of liquid stirred by the others cleaning their gear. At first, it had been awkward to do such a thing—Alistair was not used to seeing nudity casually. Though the templars were militaristic, they still granted their recruits some privacy. So, he waited until she finished—or at least until she floated from out of view.

Then when she finished, she would go into her tent to rest.

She didn’t cry.

She pushed away her feelings of guilt—the sight of red on her armor, red blood that belonged to humans, dwarves, and elves alike became too familiar long ago. She was no longer disturbed, no longer the young woman who cried and shook uncontrollably on the battlefield as she cast a bolt of lightning at an ogre that threatened to smash her with its grotesque and rotting fist. No. Every time that she found herself on the field again, found herself waving her staff at her target, she thought of Loghain. She thought of the chantry mothers. She thought of Jowan. She thought of Cullen.

Then she’s no longer guilty, no longer full of grief, no longer upset.

Now she’s angry. And they all don’t know what they have coming to them.

She doesn’t like that either.

* * *

“Warden?”

She hates it when they call her that. Minuvae isn’t the only maker damned warden in the room, for fuck’s sake—

"Alistair is standing right fucking there”—She thinks bitterly as she turns to face Isolde, Redcliffe’s mistress, the Orlesian woman who wouldn’t stop clucking at Teagan when Minuvae and her team finished tending to Redcliffe’s injured warriors.

Isolde didn’t marvel at the non-existent death toll; she didn’t thank the Maker that Redcliffe still stood—no she went immediately went to Arl Teagan and—

Minuvae feels a sudden pain in her ribs and turns her head towards Morrigan, who looks sharply at Minuvae, then Isolde. Minuvae smiles wanly at the blonde woman, clad in a freshly laundered gown, her face pale and smooth.

“Yes, my lady?” Minuvae says, tilting her head slightly down as she speaks, “I’m afraid my attention lapsed. Please, forgive me. Can you repeat what you just said?”

If the circle taught her to do anything instinctively, no matter how sleep deprived she was, manners is right up there with magic.

“We have fetched the blood mage,” Isolde says—casting a scornful glare over at Jowan, still bound and upset with Minuvae for leaving him in a cell. “And he says that he has a solution.”

“Not that she’d listen to me.” Jowan complains, loud enough for everyone near him to hear.

Maybe she’s still too fucking tired from saving the entire fucking village, but she doesn’t understand how Jowan could hold a grudge for so long. If anything, _she_ should be angry at him still. He lied to her about blood magic! Using it is one thing, insignificant if he has enough will, but he kept prattling on for years that he’s her best friend and he just fucking _lied to her face_ about using it! Then he had the audacity to tell her that she had no right to intervene and no right to be angry at him?

She might be mad anyway.

“What do you have to say for yourself Jowan?” Isolde cries, “You have ruined everything!”

Apparently, that also becomes a matter subject to debate, when Isolde reveals to Minuvae and Teagan that she hired him on recommendation of Teyrn Loghain. Jowan then went on to poison Arl Eamon, the kid made a deal with a demon because he wanted to help dear old Pa, and now we’re here.

Whoopee.

“—and so, blood magic can get us into the fade to save Connor! I can make this right again. But the thing is…” and Jowan pauses—not apprehensively, not shamefully, no—he pauses because he makes eye contact with Minuvae as he speaks, she glares at him as if she hopes her stare could kill him. “It takes a whole lot of life force, and that can most easily come from blood. So, we need a whole life to trade for Eamon’s vitality.”

“If Conner and Eamon need blood, then I should be the one to die!” Isolde says, looking at Jowan and Minuvae with wild eyes. “My son needs me!”

Minuvae slaps Isolde, the sound of her leather glove hitting the noblewoman’s face echoes into Redcliffe castle’s hallway and all the jaws in the room fall to the ground as Isolde cradles her face. Minuvae straightens her posture and slips the glove back onto her hand. The guards are either too awestruck or too tired to act on behalf of their mistress. Shale the golem laughs as Morrigan stifles an unladylike snort.

“With all due respect my lady,” Minuvae says carefully as she presses her hand—now enchanted with a layer of frost—to the Arlessa’s face, “I fail to see the logic in blaming all magic for harming your family, then insisting that a largely understudied and ill-performed ritual is going to fix matters for you.”

“Well you didn’t have to hit her!” Jowan says, “You could have just asked me what else we could do!”

“I don’t need to ask you for anything, much less answers to magical problems.” She says to Jowan curtly, “I saved the circle from blood mages, demons, and abominations last month. I’m going to see the grand enchanter and perform the ritual with an actual ton of lyrium—so that there is no need to actually murder Lady Isolde so that her son and husband can live in relative peace!”

Minuvae turns to Isolde, “My lady, many apologies—but I had to make sure that he hadn’t possessed you. Acts of aggression usually bring out demons, who react to protect their host bodies.” Minuvae pauses, and turns her head to the side, “I also found your reaction ludicrous. I hope that you can forgive me—but if you wish to punish me, please do so after I save your husband and child.”

Isolde, still pale, nods and gestures towards Teagan to come to her side. He helps her up and passes her onto a nearby guard.

“Please take Lady Isolde to her chambers,” he says to the guard, “I think that she may need to rest.” Teagan faces Minuvae, who stares at him with her most serious expression.

“I’m surprised she didn’t demand that you die on the spot.” He muses, “Though try that again and you will be punished. You have my thanks, for ensuring the safety of Redcliffe.”

“Thanks? For laying hands on a hysterical noblewoman? Now, why is this not the reaction that we receive for such aggression more often?” Morrigan says wryly.

“Maybe in the wilds where you’re from that’s normal, but around here we don’t normally slap arlessas,” Alistair says in a dry tone, “No matter how much they may deserve it.”

Minuvae shushes them. “Do we have your permission to leave for Kinloch Hold as soon as possible?” She asks Teagan, “We do not have much time. The demon could take hold as we speak.”

“Yes, Warden—please make haste, my nephew’s life is in your hands.”

Minuvae nods and turns to leave. Morrigan, Alistair, and Shale the golem follow suit—the latter chuckling all the way. When they are outside, Shale turns to Minuvae and finally speaks.

“Perhaps the stuffed noble should reconsider its decision. After all, It has already proven that its hands are deadlier than they look.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If there is an emotion or warden you'd like me to write for please feel free to dm me on Twitter!


End file.
